


Don't Stand So Close To Me (I'm Contagious)

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, h/c, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: It’s the front door that wakes him. He peers blearily out from under his nest of blankets. Why had he given him a key?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless, disgusting fluff in the form of two ficlets. The first one is Posner/Scripps and the second is Dakin/Irwin.
> 
> Unbetad even by myself, because I too am sick and wrote these mostly to cheer myself up.
> 
> Title (mostly) from the Police song by the same name, because I suck at writing my own.

 

 

The phone is ringing. He turns his face into the pillows with a soft groan and goes back to sleep.

 

This time it’s the front door that wakes him. He peers blearily out from under his nest of blankets. _Why had he given him a key?_

 

“Pos you in here? David?”

 

“Don’t come in.” He chokes out. “I’m infected.”

 

Scripps’ worried face appears in around the bedroom door.

 

“Shit David, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Posner has curled his duvet around him in some elaborate origami donut and sits shivering in the middle, looking faintly green, surrounded by tissues and empty teacups.

 

“I didn’t want to worry you.” He sniffs. Scripps has never heard anyone sound more miserable in his life.

 

“I was worried, you idiot. I’ve been trying to call but you wouldn’t pick up. Nobody’s seen you for days.”

 

“Oh.”

 

With a sigh, Scripps crosses to the bed and collects the bundle of bedding and Posner into his arms. Posner puts up a less than half-hearted protest.

 

“You’ll get sick.”

 

“I’ll be fine, I take lots of vitamin C.” He presses a kiss to Posner’s clammy forehead.

 

“Don?"

 

Scripps hums in acknowledgement.

 

"I’m cold.”

 

“Do you have any more blankets?”

 

He shakes his head and reaches for another tissue. He tries to blow his nose as elegantly as possible and winces at the disgusting wet sound that tells him he’s failed to pull it off.

 

Scripps appears not to mind, although Posner doubts Celia Johnson’s nose ever made noises like that.

 

“Are you well enough to come back to mine?”

 

“I don’t want you to be late meeting your deadlines or anything.”

 

“You sure? I’ve got plenty of blankets and hot water bottles and soup, and if those fail I’ll always keep you warm.”

 

Posner nods thoughtfully as if he’s considering his options.

 

Scripps laughs. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve rented Maurice out on video this week, I’ll warm you up on the sofa while we watch it.”

 

Posner slowly unwinds from his duvet-donut. “You could have led with that.” He croaks “I’d have said yes much quicker.” 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The phone is ringing. He turns his face into the pillows with a soft groan and goes back to sleep.

 

This time it’s the front door that wakes him. He peers blearily out from under his nest of blankets. _Why had he given him a key?_

 

“Tom? I phoned but you weren’t picking up.” The unstoppable Stuart Dakin can be heard searching the flat, first the living room and then the kitchen before finding him in the bedroom.

 

“Jesus Christ.” Irwin is deathly pale, curled up in a nest of blankets that dwarfs his slender frame. The bedroom stinks of something awful. Dakin goes straight to open the window and his good shoes narrowly avoid an incident with a washing up bowl full of sick on the way.

 

“That would explain the smell.” He goes to rinse it out and returns with a glass of water.

 

A hand to Irwin’s forehead produces a small whimper as he leans into it. The skin there is burning hot and damp with sweat.

 

“Fuck sake.” Dakin perches on the side of the bed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

It’s the only time he’s seen Irwin like this: hair a mess and without his glasses, in a situation other than sex, and he looks so small and vulnerable.

 

“Didn’t want to bother - ” His voice is hoarse and he breaks off for a coughing fit. “It’s not that sort of arrangement.”

 

“I see. ‘I didn’t tell you I was dying, Stu, because you’re an arsehole’ basically.” He grumbles as he helps Irwin into a sitting position so he can rub his t-shirt covered back.

 

“That’s not what –“ More coughing drowns out any further daft excuses.

 

“How long have you been ill?”

 

“Just a couple of days.”

 

“That explains why you haven’t been answering my calls then. Thought you might be getting bored of me.” He teases.

 

Iwrin shakes his head. Worry flashes across his face as Dakin stands up and goes to the door.

 

“Where are you going?” he hates himself for how needy it sounds.

 

“To make some soup. Don’t get up.”


End file.
